


ghost hunting

by itisjosh



Series: ok maybe ghosts exist [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: "ghost hunter" lmao, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Ghost Hunters, Ghost!Tommy, Humor, Insults, Past Character Death, Spirits, Tommy is a little shit, different POVs, ghost hunter!wilbur, i am in the mood for likes - ghost tommyinnit, so much swearing, this stream is fucking wild lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisjosh/pseuds/itisjosh
Summary: The ghost stream is as much of a success as it can be.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: ok maybe ghosts exist [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983292
Comments: 87
Kudos: 1812





	ghost hunting

Wilbur sighs, turning on the spirit box. "Alright," he winces at how loud it is, wishing that he hadn't agreed to do this. He doesn't mind agreeing to it, but the _fucking sound_ , Jesus Christ. It's so _loud_. "Hello, ah, spirits," Wilbur clears his throat, flicking off the light. "My name is Wilbur, and I-"

_"Fuck."_

Wilbur blinks. 

"What?" He laughs, glancing over at his set up. "Fuck? Can you..what? Can you say that again? Or your name? Or anything?" He grins, pinching the bridge of his nose. Christ. He's never believed in any of this kind of shit, but he does respect it. For the most part. To be fair, if he doesn't say that, all of the non-skeptics in his chat might fucking hex him, he doesn't know. Better to be safe. "Hello?" 

_"Prick."_

"Fuck, prick," Wilbur sighs. "These are insults, ghost. Can you stop insulting me?" He glances over down to his chat, watching as it goes _feral_ at that. "Chat, I know what I'm doing," he laughs. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I'm a pr-"

_"You do not."_

"I don't what?" Wilbur questions. This ghost is a little _shit_. "Listen, ghost, I'm-"

_"Fuck."_

Wilbur closes his eyes. "Listen here, you little shit," he looks down at chat, internally sighing when he watches the influx of messages, all of which contain variants of "WILBUR WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING". Wilbur shifts, kicking up a foot to rest on his desk. "You're not a very helpful ghost. Your vocabulary simply consists of the word fuck, which isn't very useful. Oh, yeah, I'm streaming. How's that make you feel?" There's a long silence, the sound of jazz and disco playing faintly through the static.

_"That's.."_

"That's.."

_"Just rude."_

Wilbur laughs, nearly doubling over. "That's just rude?" He questions, turning to grin at his camera. "That's just rude, chat. This ghost is angry, chat. He doesn't like me. He doesn't like that I'm _right_." 

_"Bitch."_

"Bitch!" Wilbur claps his hands, beaming more than he should. "He called me a bitch, chat! He called me a bitch!" He giggles, propping his other foot up on his desk. "Anything else? Or are you just gonna swear at me? I'm not swearing at you," the spirit box goes completely silent for a second, before the static resumes. "Did you..did you just censor yourself?" Wilbur asks, ducking his head to hide his grin. Not like it matters, it's too dark to be picked up, but _still_. "Thank you, that's very polite and considerate of you." 

* * *

Tommy did _not_ just censor himself. It isn't his fucking fault that whatever Wilbur's using is shit. "No, you dumbass," Tommy scoffs. "I didn't censor myself. Your little machine is just a fucking piece of shit," he huffs, crossing his arms from the doorway of Wilbur's office. He's seen this goddamn man-child in _his_ room every single day of his life, and it's only now that he decides to actually talk to him. "Stop laughing at me, bitch." 

"You didn't censor yourself.." Wilbur repeats the words. "I heard the word bitch, chat. I'm not sure. It isn't picking up." Tommy scoffs.

"So your machine is so shit that it doesn't even hear what I'm saying?" He raises an eyebrow, moving closer to Wilbur. "That's kind of lame, big man."

"Big man?" Wilbur laughs, clapping his hands together. "Big man! I like that, I like that, ghost! That's nice, that's a very nice nickname you've given me, thank you. Do you have a name? Or have you just completely forgotten how introductions work?" Tommy is going to punch him in the face. So he does, his fist passing through Wilbur's face, just like he expected. "Oh," Wilbur shudders, glancing up at his monitor. "I just got the chills." 

"Yeah, 'cause I just fucking hit you," Tommy rolls his eyes. "You're ridiculous, big man." 

"You..what? I heard "hit you"," Wilbur runs a hand down his face. "That's kind of rude, ghost. Listen," he sighs. "I just want your name, and then we can actually start talking. So far, it's just been you swearing at me. Like a child." 

Tommy glares at him. "Tommy," he says it as clearly as he can, figuring that the stupid machine can pick it up. "My name is Tommy." He says the words a little slower than he normally would, watching as something flickers on Wilbur's screen. Wait. Can he change things there? Tommy reaches out, touching the top of the monitor. 

"Tommy?" Wilbur asks. "Wait, can someone clip that? I thought I heard Tommy, I'm almost certain I heard Tommy. Okay," he pauses. "Tommy, you just turned off my camera. Now, I'd like to ask if you could turn that back on." He touches the monitor again, watching as it lights up. 

He sighs. It's going to be a long night.

* * *

Wilbur is having the time of his life. 

Between chat freaking the fuck out and the ghost, Tommy, antagonising him, he's having an _amazing_ time. "Is it insensitive of me to ask how you died, Tommy?" 

_"Long story."_

Wilbur snorts. "Tommy, I've got time. Trust me. Chat already loves you! They're asking if you can say "pog". Can you say pog for me, Tommy? It'd make my day." He swears that he hears a sigh, one filled with disappointment and annoyance.

 _"Pog."_ Wilbur's eyes go huge, his mouth twitching into a grin. Holy shit. 

"Chat," Wilbur begins, "chat, he did it. Chat, he said pog! Chat, he fucking said pog! Tommy supremacy!" Wilbur shouts, clapping his hands together. "Tommy supremacy!"

_"Fuck off."_

Wilbur giggles, his heart racing. "Hey, chat? I think Tommy likes me. I think he's warming up to me. He did punch me in the face a couple minutes back, but I think he likes me now, chat. Tommy do you want to- chat, no, fuck off," he laughs. "I'm not asking him to say subscribe to Technoblade. Chat, shut up. Go away. He said pog, is that not en-"

_"Subscribe.."_

"Tommy, don't fucking do it."

_"To Techno.."_

"Tommy."

_"Blade."_

* * *

Chat, Tommy learns, consists of around fifty thousand people. 

Technoblade, Tommy learns, is Wilbur's older brother. 

Wilbur, Tommy learns, is likeable. 

Tommy watched him end his stream about thirty minutes ago, finishing with the promise of a part two. Tommy is fairly certain that he'll show up for that. Wilbur's stream, his audience, they already fucking love him, he might as well help the big man rake in some views. Plus, it's..it's nice, he decides. It's fun to talk to someone. Even if the machine, the spirit box, is loud as fuck. 

"So, Tommy," Wilbur has the lights back on, his feet still on his desk. "I don't believe in ghosts."

"Seriously? After literally everything, you don't fucking believe in ghosts?" Tommy sighs. "You're hopeless, Wilbur." 

"Yes, seriously," he grins. "But, I think you've changed my mind. Can you follow me home, Tommy? Or are you stuck here?" 

"I can go wherever I want," Tommy grumbles. He sighs after a second. "Follow." He says the word clearly. The spirit box is shit at picking up sentences, so he'll just have to simplify literally everything he says.

Wilbur's face lights up when he hears his voice. "Alright! Let's go, then. It's been very nice talking to you, Tommy. I'll turn the spirit box back on when I get home. When we get home."

Tommy smiles, annoyance fading. 

Maybe this Wilbur guy isn't so bad after all. 


End file.
